


Wishful Thinking

by Cheshagirl



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien/Human Relationships, F/M, Fantasizing, Female Ejaculation, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Original Character(s), POV Original Female Character, Pheromones, Vaginal Fingering, ill expand more on them eventually but until then, just brief mentions of the last two, please enjoy song getting off, theyre not like abo heats and stuff tho, yeah so songs race is an original race i created
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22215043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshagirl/pseuds/Cheshagirl
Summary: A little time alone is more precious than Song previously thought when she joined the Mandalorian on his escape from bounty hunters. She uses her new time wisely
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes about Song's species: they've got four arms so, in turn, they have basically two chests. They also have tails and female genitalia has little tentacle labia that grip whatever is penetrating them. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked this, I am working on a full story for Song and Mando that will mostly follow canon with a few exceptions.

Privacy was seldom come by when running through space. More often than not Song found her time was split between taking care of the Child, running from bounty hunters, and making sure the Mandalorian’s wounds weren’t severe. Originally taking care of the Mandalorian wasn’t on the table when she had coerced him into letting her join his travels, but it became apparent he would need to be checked regularly for wounds and scrapes. So when the opportunity presented itself for her time to be spent alone and focused on herself, Song took it greedily. The Razorcrest was getting repairs so they’d stopped at an inn, booked two rooms, and Mando had taken the Child. Now here she was, alone in a locked room with a candle shedding a warm glow across her skin, glistening with sweat. This was as good a time as any to relieve herself, with her first heat of the year hitting she didn’t want to send Mando in a dizzy state with pheromones she couldn’t control.

She sighs, dragging her bottom right hand down her body, paying special care to squeeze her breasts as she passed until it reached her clit. The blue nub was hard, aching for relief but there were more pressing matters, like spreading her folds apart and running her fingers through the slick. The small tentacles of her labia curl toward her fingers but she ignores them, dragging her pointer and ring finger over her pussy until they’re properly lubed. Ever so slowly they move upward until they press against that little bundle of nerves that has her gasping and throwing her head to the side. Her top hands squeeze and grope her chest. Each pinch and pull of her nipples shocks her core, and her fourth hand grips weakly at the bedsheets. She presses against her clit, slowly rolling and teasing it between her fingers. Each time her core twists tighter but her release couldn’t come fast enough. Impatient and aching, her hand abandons her clit. With careful deliberateness, Song pushes two fingers inside herself. Her back arches from the bed and she lets out a quiet shout. For the briefest moment, she fears that someone could hear her, including Mando if he had returned to his room directly next to hers. The moment of panic is quickly overshadowed when her mind fixates on Mando. His broad shoulders, his stride, his armor, his voice. _Gods his voice_. A particularly well-placed thrust has her legs jerking and a cry escaping her lips.

She wonders what he looked like beneath his helmet. His skin was a beautiful tan, that much she knew from when he’d taken off a glove to take care of a cut. Was the rest of his skin smooth or littered in scars? Did he have dark hair, dark eyes? Was his hair curly or straight, dark or light? Song built him around what little she knew, but his face remained shrouded in darkness, as his lips press against her hair and purr sweet nothings in his deep voice. She chokes on her moans, gyrates her hips into her hand all while wishing his own were in their place. She imagined he’d move slowly at first, coaxing whines from her as he slowly worked her open, readying her for his cock. He’d find that special spot in her that sent shivers down her spine and he’d rub her clit until she was nearly undone. Closer and closer and _closer_. Then he’d stop, kiss her neck, palm her breasts in his hands. Callouses contrasting the smooth skin while she moaned for him to take her. That’s when he’d thrust in her, stilling as soon as he bottomed out in her. Barely moving his hips while she adjusts and her labia grips him against her. Would he murmur sweet nothings or growl sinful names at her? Mando would set a rough pace when he can’t hold himself back any longer. Hips thrusting into her, leaving bruises in their wake. Skin against skin, sweat causing them to slide smoothly. She’d pull him against her and leave marks from her claws down his back. Moaning and growling and thrusting until it snaps, that core that warms her releases. 

Song bites one of her hands, trying to stifle the loud moan that draws itself from her throat. Her fingers are held in place by the tentacles of her labia as her pleasure sends waves down her body. Her release coats her fingers, run down between her thighs and onto her tail. Song lets herself fall limp against the bed when her labia stops twitching and she can pull her fingers out. Sweat slips down her body, leaving her feeling sticky and hot. Guilt starts to eat away as her mind comes out of its haze. Fantasizing about the man she traveled with, who hadn’t invited her in the first place. He was an enigma despite the feelings that she could sense coming off of him in desperate situations. A long, deep sigh leaves her. There was no use ruminating about something that had already passed. She rolls over, gazing at the flickering candle. Too tired to get up and blow it out she decides to give in to sleep and hope her room doesn’t burn down.


End file.
